


madness after the fall (untitled - an excerpt)

by rainonherwindow



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Hellenistic Religion & Lore
Genre: (y is there an overload of hades/persephone when diadne is right! there!), Character Study, F/M, Non-Graphic Smut, POV First Person, ariadne's had some very toxic history and is discovering the delights of a healthy relationship, more like vaguely sexual purple prose, my dionysus is a Good One btw, this is the raciest thing you will ever get out of me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 09:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17342807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainonherwindow/pseuds/rainonherwindow
Summary: It is a strange kind of contradiction to be loved by him, this man who is madness.





	madness after the fall (untitled - an excerpt)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm embarrassed to even be posting this honestly, but hey - it was definitely breaking out of my comfort zone as a writer. It's technically a teeny fragment of a book i'm writing, and i wrote it as a sort of study of ariadne at a particular point in her character growth. i'm actually surprisingly proud of how it came out? There's a few lines in here that I amazingly... don't hate? pushin the border between prose and poetry is my jam.

Dionysus is passion, I think as his breath ghosts over my thighs. Passion and madness and thrill. Sin trapped in the skin of a god. His entire being is the energy of life, the hum of adrenalin alive in the ichor in his veins. It is a strange kind of contradiction to be loved by him. This man who is madness — feared by so many among us for the stories of insanity, murderous trances, uncontrolled debauchery — yet who is so unspeakably _adoring_.

His touch is almost reverent. The caresses of his fingers feel like worship, and under his hands it is impossible to believe I am anything less than a goddess. He grips the curve of my hip and I am brighter than the dawn's golden bloom as it spills across the night-inked sea beside us. The sun kisses my face, bathes his back in warm orange and he _glows_. Looking down at him now it is easy to see him as the god he is: dark skin lit up gold, wine-rich eyes heavy with desire.

He meets my gaze, my heart still caught in my chest at the image of him, and I almost weep. His stare is worried. It is safe and loving and _wonderful_ with worry and I feel tears prickle my waterline.

"'Adne?" he asks, voice like a velvet embrace, "are you okay? Is this okay?"

I nod frantically, a lump in my throat and a smile pulling irrepressible over my lips.

"Yes." I reach down and cup his face, tug him up towards me, whisper against his mouth like a prayer. "Yes, _yes_."

I feel his grin and taste the grapes on his breath as he cradles my back. "I love you. _Gods_ , I love you."

This is what it is to love — to _live_. I could laugh, remembering how I once hoped an Athenian prince could hold me, could _love_ me. With Dionysus I am incandescent. I am ecstasy itself, under the touch of madness.

I lay back on the sand, still bathed in the golden fire of dawn, and pull him down over me.

"Show me?"

He laughs, deep and husky with promise, then kisses me again. It's tender and perfect and all I can think is _gods, this is love_ — before his lips are moving and I'm _gasping_ —


End file.
